The Blood That Binds by Madeline Sheehan

 

Logan

“Move over, Eddie.” Britta dropped her tray onto the table with a clatter, sending bits of food flying in my direction. Covered in gore from her head to hands, she took the seat directly beside mine, tucked a napkin into the collar of her blood-soaked top and began to eat. Frowning, I shifted my chair quickly away from Britta’s, and closer to Willow’s.

“What is all over you?” Ella asked. “Is that… blood?” Ella, seated at the table across from Willow, wrinkled her nose in Britta’s direction.

“Sure is, sugar. Blood an’ guts an’ who knows what else. I was outside the wall pullin’ rabbits outta traps and this Dead Head shows up outta nowhere, grabbin’ my rabbit, playin’ fuckin’ tug-a-war with me.” Britta paused to scoop a spoonful of mashed potatoes into her mouth. “Dang thing didn’t want me at all—just wanted my rabbit. Tore it right in half and got to eatin’.”

“Gross,” Ella muttered. “Couldn’t you have cleaned up before you came here?”

“An’ chance missin’ dinner?” Britta looked momentarily aghast before she resumed eating with vigor.

“I ever tell you guys the joke about the vulture who boarded an airplane with two dead rabbits?” Jordy asked, sending a wink in Willow’s direction. “And the flight attendant says, ‘sorry, mate, only one carry-on per passenger.’”

“What do you call a hundred rabbits eating backward?” EJ added. “A receding hare line.”

Ella scoffed. “Not funny, Elijah.”

EJ grinned at the scowling blonde. “Not funny to you maybe, GabriElla.”

Glancing at Willow, I found her watching the banter around the table with a small, amused smile. Meanwhile, I was contemplating gouging out my eardrums with the fork I was white-knuckling.

“I’m headed home,” I gritted out softly. With barely a glance in my direction, Willow only nodded in reply.

As I stalked my way toward the doors, laughter rang out loudly. Glancing back at the table I’d just departed, everyone was doubled over—even Ella was laughing—while Jordy rose from his seat and bowed dramatically.

Scowling, I pushed through the double doors, happy to leave the noise behind. So much for Willow wanting to avoid people. Beginning with Britta, each day over the past two weeks had brought about new dining companions. Jordy had appeared next, armed with jokes that weren’t funny, and flirting with Willow like his life depended on it. And Willow did nothing to dispel his attention. In fact, lately she seemed to be lapping it up. The tables had turned since high school; it was Willow who had a penchant for making friends now, whereas I’d become the outsider.

Inside the cabin, I reclaimed my tool belt and headed to my makeshift workbench—an old metal desk that fit nicely at the end of my bed. Rummaging through my tools, I began sanding a set of hanging shelves we’d been given. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with them, other than sand them down and slap some finish on them. Regardless, it felt good to keep my hands busy and mind occupied on things that didn’t involve Willow.

The workbench wasn’t the only new addition to the cabin—new-to-us curtains had replaced the tattered, torn ones, and a hand-me-down table and chairs graced a corner of the cabin. A small hand-braided rug sat in the center of the room and both bunk beds were fitted with clean sheets and covered in mismatched pillows and blankets. The clothing we’d both been slowly accumulating was neatly folded and put away inside our separate dressers… at least, my clothing was put away. Willow’s things were half shoved into open drawers and strewn over her unmade bed.

Yet, however homey the cabin was beginning to look, and however like a home it was starting to feel, I’d made sure to keep Lucas’s bag packed full of supplies, and stored directly under my bunk, ready to grab and go in the case of an emergency.

“We have… mail.”

Willow stood in the entranceway, staring down at a letter in her hand, as if she’d never seen one before.

Tossing my sandpaper aside, I turned to her. “What do you mean, we have mail?”

“I mean, we have literal mail. Look, it’s even addressed to us.” Moving closer, Willow waved the envelope around. “Willow and Logan, Silver Lakes Community, Cabin Twelve.” She chuckled. “They even made it sound official.”

I snatched the envelope from her. Sure enough, someone had written our names together—Willow and Logan—as if we were a pair, a couple even. Before I could think too long or hard on that particular notion, I flung the envelope toward the table and turned back to my workbench, quickly reclaiming my sandpaper.

“Who brought it?” I asked, as I resumed sanding.

“Davey, I think.”

Choking on a laugh, I cleared my throat. “Davey’s the fucking mailman?”

“Davey is whatever Leisel and Joshua want him to be… oh my god, Logan, it’s a wedding invitation.”

Willow had torn open the envelope, letting it flutter to the floor. Holding a small yellow index card, she scanned the card, her eyes widening. “Maria and James invite you to join in the celebration of their wedding on Saturday, August fifteenth. The ceremony and reception will take place in the dining hall. Five p.m.” Willow glanced up at me, perplexed. “A wedding? People still do that?”

Bending down, I scooped up the shredded envelope and shoved it in my pocket. “Who are Maria and James?”

“They’re Maria and James—I mean, Jim. You know, they have that weird little kid who never stops talking about his dead grandpa?”

“Great,” I muttered. “My favorite person.”

Snorting, Willow tossed the card onto the table and kicked her boots off, leaving them where they’d landed—in the middle of the room. As she disappeared inside the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind her, I picked up her boots, setting them neatly on her side of the room. I’d only just resumed working on the shelves when Willow emerged from the bathroom, her hair down, and wearing only an oversized T-shirt with a pair of pink underwear, clearly discernible as she took a seat at the table, with one long, smooth leg folded beneath her and the other propped beside her.

Jesus… I inwardly groaned at the sweet sight of her half undressed.

Living with Willow was rapidly becoming unbearable. Without Lucas around to dissuade me from staring, I was left free to drink my fill of her. Which, in turn, left me in a constant state of agitation, arousal, or both. Willow, at least, seemed oblivious.

“Have you ever been to a wedding?” she asked idly, her focus on the mason jar full of homemade skin cream—a recent gift from Cassie. Twisting open the tin top, she scooped some of the mixture into her hands and began smoothing it up and down her arms. Moving onto her legs, she lifted each one high into the air, slowly massaging the lotion into her skin. I would have thought she was doing it purely to torment me, if it weren’t for the fact that we’d regularly seen one another in various stages of undress over the years.

“Logan?”

I blinked back to her face. “Huh?”

“I said—have you ever been to a wedding?”

Turning back to the bench, I resumed sanding with vigor. “Once when I was little. One of my mom’s friends, I think.”

“Which friend?”

“Mrs. Vernon—you know, the woman who worked at the library.”

“Mrs. Vernon,” she repeated slowly, her voice softening. “Yeah, I remember her.”

Picking up on the melancholy in her tone, I turned to find Willow with her lotion set aside, sitting slumped over the table, her chin cradled in her hands. “She used to let me and Luke hang out in the reading loft after hours,” she said, gazing out across the room. I tried to think of something to say, some way to comfort her, when she suddenly sat up with a burst of laughter.

“Oh my god, do you remember the night Luke and I came home absolutely annihilated? Like, we couldn’t even walk?”

How could I forget the absolute fuss my mom had made over it—the lengths she’d gone to hide the entire infuriating episode from our father. After rushing Luke off to bed, she’d appointed me in charge of getting Willow safely home.

“Yeah,” I replied, my tone as dry as the scowl on my face. “You threw up in my truck.”

Willow laughed harder. “We’d been at the library that night—we found a bottle of tequila in Mrs. Vernon’s desk and I totally pressured Luke into drinking it with me.”

“And then you threw up in your driveway,” I continued.

“And Luke was singing the ABC’s the whole walk home…”

“And then you threw up on your porch.”

“And then he just collapsed in the front yard—I couldn’t get him up.” Willow was breathless with laughter, clutching her stomach.

“And then you threw up all over your dad…”

As Willow continued to laugh, tears flooded her cheeks, her laughter growing louder and shriller, until she was no longer laughing, but crying, I stepped toward her. “Willow—” I began.

“No, no—I’m fine,” she rushed to say, even as tears continued rolling down her cheeks. “I’m sorry—I don’t know what just happened. I just… I just miss him.” Looking up at me, she attempted to smile, waving her hand in the air as if to wave her words away.

I remained standing there—I wanted to tell her that I missed him, too, that every time I thought of Lucas I felt a crushing sensation in my chest so intense it would freeze me in place and leave me struggling to breathe. I wanted to commiserate with her—the only other person on this planet who’d loved my brother as much as I did, but something was stopping me. The very same hesitation that had been stopping me from connecting with anyone my whole goddamn life.

“Hey, um, so, tell me what the wedding was like—the one you went to.” Wet and rimmed in red, Willow’s brown eyes implored me.

“Uh, well, it was boring, I guess. Everyone was drunk and doing stupid dances, and you know how I feel about that shit.”

“What kind of dances?”

“I don’t know—the chicken dance. The Macarena. Stupid stuff.”

Willow’s eyes shot to mine, a familiar spark burning within. A smile played across her lips. “I think we should go,” she said, tapping the invitation lying on the table. “I want to see what it’s like.”

My eyes crossed. Just the thought of being at an event like that—where the whole camp would undoubtedly be in attendance—was enough to make my skin crawl. “No way.”

“Oh, come on, Logan. It might be fun.”

“No way, I’m not going.”

“Why not?”

“Why would I?”

“To see what it’s like—obviously. The same reason people used to go to zoos—to see things they haven’t seen before.”

“First,” I told her. “I’ve already been to a wedding—I don’t need to see what it’s like. And second, did you just compare Silver Lake to a fucking zoo?”

Willow pursed her lips. “I hadn’t meant to, but now that you mention it—it’s kind of like we’re in a cage, right?” She shrugged. “Maybe we should start charging the Creepers admission?”

Despite myself, I barked out a laugh. Willow’s gaze shot to mine, her eyes growing wide.

“Logan, did you just… laugh?”

My mouth flattened. “No.”

“Yes, you did!” Grinning, Willow was bouncing in her seat, pointing at me. “I saw it. I heard you. That’s twice in two weeks!”

“I wasn’t laughing,” I growled, even as my lips twitched. The sight of her—happy in a way I hadn’t seen her since losing Lucas—was making me feel all sorts of things I wasn’t used to feeling. Things I shouldn’t be feeling.

“Yes, you were,” she mocked. “I saw it—you can’t deny it. I made Logan laugh, again.” She said the last part in a singsong voice that reminded me of the way she and Lucas would tease one another.

Closing my eyes, I sucked in a hard breath. In all the years Willow and I had known one another, it was only during these last two weeks of living together without Lucas that we’d fallen into a comfortable rhythm together. And I liked it. I really fucking liked it. Was it wrong, I wondered, to enjoy something that had only come about at the expense of my brother? Not wanting to think about the answer, I turned away and resumed sanding the bench. This time twice as hard.

“Alright,” Willow said around a yawn. “I guess I’m gonna go to bed.”

I remained as I was, with my back to Willow, bent over the bench, still furiously sanding. Not until I’d finished one entire shelf and swept the dust into a pile did I finally rise. Turning, I found Willow propped up in bed, a book in hand, fast asleep. One bare leg was slung over her blankets and her T-shirt was pushed up to her waist. I took my time looking at her—the length of her leg, the dip of her waist, the soft upward curve of her mouth—as if she’d fallen asleep smiling.

Silently crossing the room, I slid the book gently from her hand, turning it over. Missing its cover, its pages stained and torn, the title page read: ALICE’S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND. Setting it aside, I pulled the blankets out from beneath her, tucking them at her waist. Staring down at her, I found my hand drawn to her face, to a loose curl hanging over one eye. As I was gently pushing it aside, Willow shifted and I quickly snatched my hand back. With a soft sigh, she rolled onto her side, tugging the blankets up to her chin.

I backed away, my heart hammering in my chest, still attempting to convince myself that what I felt for Willow was only the inevitable result of a long stretch of unrequited lust and loneliness. Those excuses had barely worked while living on the road; here in Silver Lake, they didn’t hold up at all.

With a frustrated growl, I wrenched my shirt over my head, tossing it onto the top bunk where I’d begun keeping all my dirty laundry. Stripping down to my boxers, I switched the lights off and climbed into bed. Glaring at the bunk above me, I knew it was time to own up to my feelings—at least, to myself.

Turning toward Willow, the silhouette of her sleeping form just barely visible in the meager moonlight, I listened to her rhythmic breaths. In and out and in and out, until my own breaths slowed and my eyelids began to droop.